Shipping
by MyHeroPupaPan
Summary: In which Sherlock and John discover Johnlock shippers. T for some mild language. Somewhat implied Johnlock towards the end if you squint.


Shipping

_I require your assistance, come home immediately. - SH_

John Watson paused the steaming coffee mug a few mere inches away from his eager lips, stiffening as his cell phone rang with the familiar ringtone he had chosen specifically for regrettably, his partner Sherlock Holmes. Conflicted, he grumpily set down his hot beverage and pondered over whether or not he should reply to the vague text message, and if he should go home as Sherlock had 'asked' him to. (In other words, John was becoming an indentured servant to the infamous private detective because Sherlock didn't know the fine line separating polite favours and plain old procrastination.) John thought back to all those instances where Sherlock Holmes would send him all these incredibly urgent sounding texts when all he really needed was for John to fetch him a jar of a cadaver's innards from Mrs. Hudson's fridge or maybe even something as commonplace as a pen. Decidedly, John set down his cellular device without so much replying and once again, his hand reached out for the coffee.

_Surely you could make yourself some coffee back at our flat? - SH_

Was Sherlock a mind reader now? John groaned loudly, capturing the attention of some patrons close to him, who unlike him, were enjoying delectable crisps and aromatic coffee that he should have every right to be enjoying as well. Recently, they had had a flurry of cases right after another, and John hadn't been able to frequent the coffee shop like he was accustomed to. And taking a quick peep at the burgundy red coffee mug, the man almost whimpered as the fragrant espresso danced by his nostrils teasingly and John had to resist the powerful urge to slam his fists down on the table out of sheer frustration.

That damn man knew everything and anything that would get under his skin, and it was disgusting.

_I'm waiting. I'd like to see you here in the next 10 minutes, if not 5. - SH_

That was it! Grumbling moodily to himself, John threw on his coat and left some spare change on the table, the coffee cup still sadly untouched and most likely, growing colder as the minutes ticked by. If this turned out to be a completely irrelevant errand like he knew it would be, he would guarantee a free cup of coffee from the conniving Sherlock Holmes himself by tomorrow morning. With this last thought in mind, he took a cab readily back home and rushed back to their familiar flat at 221 Baker Street.

"Sherlock? I'm home-But if you expect me to fetch you a minor item such as, I don't know, a pen perse, you'll just have to stick it-"

"About 6 minutes and 27 seconds, John. Not exactly punctual but regardless, come here. Did you know about this?"

"Did I know about what?"

Cautiously, John tossed his coat in the direction of his favourite arm chair and inched closer to Sherlock's cluttered up desk, only to wrinkle up his nose in disgust when he saw yet another questionable jar by the detective's pile of nicotine patches-the rank odour was pale in comparison to the heavenly coffee shop he had just been at, and the pitiful contrast was almost enough to make him projectile vomit all over Sherlock's belongings. He'd been back in the vicinity for less than 2 minutes and already the temptation to knock some well-needed sense into the infuriating detective was making him clench his teeth and ball up his fists until they went white.

"John, pay attention."

Shooting the eccentric man a discreet look of annoyance as his patience was waning thin, John was becoming curious as he was wondering what Sherlock was being so insistent that they see. Acknowledging the fact that maybe Sherlock had something important to actually show him, John peeked over his shoulders and squinted at the screen:

'John and Sherlock gay'

'John and Sherlock fanfiction'

John and Sherlock so and so; there were well over a _MILLION_ Google results of stories, pictures and even videos depicting them both of them in slightly more than friendly terms. Clearing his throat, John stood up straight and proper and coughed into his hand to ease the tension that probably only he felt. However, he was stupefied, and was unable to sputter out even one sarcastic comment on this new revelation. For certain John knew that the newspapers called them (particularly himself) a homosexual and more than a handful of their close friends and acquaintances had mistaken them for a live-in couple but there were that many people who thought so too? What exactly was Sherlock getting at this time?

"...And your point is?"

"They're making fanwork of us, can't you see? There are countless women and men with no greater point in life than to believe and wish for us to be in a romantic relationship and they do all of this to ease themselves at the fact that we are most likely never to enter such an intimate partnership. But John, _WHY_? Why are people so set on the both of us? Do they hold no interest in our work or even my blog?"

"Frankly Sherlock, your blog isn't very interesting to look at. I mean, really. Who actually cares to read about the history of 50 some kinds of tobacco?"

At this, Sherlock promptly whipped his curly head back to the computer screen with an irritated expression that could only be described as a hideous sulk.

"Well for god's sake, how would I know Sherlock? Why would I know why there are people outside our flat who want us to snog and shag and all that nonsense."

"Because these are ordinary people. You're much closer to the ordinary people than I am, surely you would have a clue."

"Pardon me to have to rain on your parade, but I thought you were an expert on cracking down the minds of the, bless their souls, ordinary people."

"That I am, but this time, I can't deduce why this would be. What's more John is that they use a strange term-'Shipping', and they 'ship' us, and they have decided to even give us a 'ship' name which could have only been decided on a whim because they're complete idiots."

John raised his eyebrow, as if the silence would have Sherlock follow up on his sentence. Although the subject of this conversation was strange to say the least, he felt a flicker of interest ignite. What did they write about him and Sherlock? How were they portrayed, what did they do together? Did people really write about him and Sherlock doing the unspeakable? (Oh God, did he want to know?) And finally, the most important question of all; what the bloody hell **IS** shipping?

"Johnlock."

"John what now."

Without even bothering to explain, Sherlock shrugged his shoulders with an impatient facial gesture as though John should have understood what 'Johnlock' was the first time around he said it.

"Oh take a look at this John; this is a 'fanfiction'. I can't say they did a good job writing it, but they did make the plot sound interesting from the description. What a shame."

"SHERLOCK, DO YOUR HEAR YOURSELF? THIS IS A...A..."

"Mm, yes I'm well aware of the fact that this is indeed R-rated material and borderlines one of the worst pornography to be written in humanity. I wonder if there is a way to have this removed, preferably forever."

John's cheeks reddened considerably while Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly and pressed the back button with one bony finger and from then on, began visiting various other websites. And somehow as time passed, John had found himself grabbing a nearby chair and taking a seat next to Sherlock where they would then spend hours arguing which piece of work was fairly decent and which one was utter hogwash. The times in which they would actually come to a mutual agreement on the same piece of work were rare to say the least, and never lasted long as Sherlock was childishly eager on discovering more of the 'fandom'. It was as if the whole debacle was nothing more than a new case, a treasure hunt for the most splendid fanwork of all, and for once in his life, John didn't mind this. Although he would never admit it aloud, even John Watson himself couldn't help but be intrigued with each new picture and each new set of stories lining the screen. It was...exciting, in it's own way.

As the clock ticked two in the morning, John attempted stifling a yawn, and glanced drowsily at his watch. They had been at it for well over 7 hours now, surprisingly enough. He was wondering if he should tuck himself to bed now, although he didn't exactly want to. But then again, enjoying fanwork (that may or may not be explicit about 65% of the time, or so estimated Sherlock) of you and your flat mate was more than a teensy bit awkward to admit, especially to himself as he had enough with the newspapers calling him a closeted homosexual. (How COULD he be a 'confirmed bachelor' when he had dated a fair amount of women in his lifetime?)

"John, are you going to bed now?"

"Well yes, I need some shut eye like all other normal human beings."

"I see, well I'll scroll through this a bit more, I have yet to find a fanfiction that portrays us realistically."

John nodded, understanding completely how passionate Sherlock felt about his need to find a perfect representation of the both of them, and grinned widely as he heard Sherlock do a bizarre contempt-filled snort at yet another badly written fanfiction. As John started walking in the direction of their sleeping quarters, he heard the printer churn out a paper that Sherlock made no attempts whatsoever to take a look at. Assumedly, that meant he had to go take a look instead? Gently, he took the warm newly printed page gingerly between his dry fingers and his face was overcome with a speechless expression, unsure of what to feel.

It was a rough sketch of him and Sherlock at that very same coffee shop he was at today. Sherlock had a mildly snarky air around him, but his face was obviously turned into an amused grin, his white teeth showing amusedly while his shoulders were hunched up slightly from probably laughing too much. And then there was him sitting right across from the private detective, leaning forward with a hand cupped over his mouth to hide a slowly growing smile. A burgundy red coffee mug sat in front of him, steam rising deliciously. Both their eyes were crinkled in pleasantly and it was one of those rare instances where the both of them were shown enjoying each other's company. The picture was warm, inviting…Was that really how they looked like to other people?

"This is an...accurate portrayal."

Sherlock turned his head back to glance at John, their eyes meeting not a beat later.

"How about we go for coffee tomorrow?"

"...You're buying."


End file.
